Hold Me and Tell Me We'll Meet Again
by TwilighterRenthead
Summary: It's been one year since Bangkok. Life is lonely without her. A mysterious chess game with a girl, some advice, it all leads to a phone call, and later, to something more... Freddie/Florence. T for later parts


A/N: Yay, my first Chess fic! Yay! Sorry, I haven't been on in FOREVER, I know. It's called 2 honors classes and marching band. Oh well. R&R please!

Tompkins Square Park, New York City, 1981. One year since Bangkok. Two years since losing her. I whiled away my time wandering the city, trying not to think of her. The park was unusually empty. An old lady with her grandson in a stroller, a kid playing with his dog, a girl sitting at a picnic table with a chess set playing theoretical moves. Chess set….

I went over to her. Her head was bent low over the board figuring out a game against an invisible opponent. I moved the white rook.

"Check."

She looked up. She smiled and moved her king, so it was safe from my piece.  
"So you like chess?" I asked, sitting down on the bench opposite.  
"Well, Mr. Trumper, I quite obviously do, if I'm sitting in the park with a board and no opponent, figuring out theoretical moves." She knew me. She did know her chess.  
"That's neat. Not every day you meet a teenage girl who likes chess."  
"Well, I'm not your average teenage girl."  
I smiled slightly.  
"Do you want to play a game?" She offered, gesturing to the board.  
"I was world champion. When do I not want to play?"  
She smiled. "Black or white?"  
"I'll go white."  
We set up the board in silence.  
I moved a pawn forward two spaces. She mirrored me on the opposite end.  
We played in silence for a bit.  
"So what happened to the badass,  
I'm-the-best-player-the-world-has-ever-seen, down with the Commies Freddie Trumper the world saw in Merano?"  
I looked up at her over my king.  
"I've changed since then. Losing my second, Florence Vassy, losing the title to Sergievsky, working at Global Television for that bastard De Courcy, it takes its toll."  
"Will… will you tell me about it?"

So I did. I told her everything. About Florence and Anatoly, about Florence's father, about my childhood, about Bangkok and Global Television, the Arbiter. We continued to play as I talked, and she didn't interrupt once.  
"I'm sorry, Freddie," she said, reaching across the table to touch my folded hands.  
"It's not your fault."  
"I know, but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry you went through shit."  
I moved my bishop forward.

"Checkmate."

"I knew you'd win."  
"How?"  
"You're Freddie Trumper, three time World Champion. Of course you would win against the 16-year-old high school champ. "  
"Hey, that's nothing to sneeze at. I was that once, too."  
"Bobby Fischer was a pro by my age."  
"There's never going to be another Bobby Fischer, I can almost guarantee that."  
She gave me a strange look  
"Well, you and I both better start heading home. Check your answering machine. I hope to see you again, Freddie."  
With that, she turned and left, board in one hand, bag of pieces in the other.

I sat there for a bit. That was just weird. Cryptic, chess-playing, 16-year-old-girls. Understanding them is not my specialty. I thought about what she had said. I had nothing better to do, so I took her advice: I went home and checked my answering machine.

"You. Have. Two. New. Messages," my machine said. "New. Message. One."  
"Freddie, it's Walter. I want you to do some coverage of the upcoming championship in Glasgow, Scotland. Global's willing to pay you $3,000 a segment, $4,000 an interview. Give me a call back so we can arrange a meeting."

Bastard.

"New. Message. Two."  
"Freddie, uh, hi… uh, it's me, Florence." My heart felt as though it could fly by simply hearing her voice again. "Um, I'm sure you've heard the championships are going to be held in Glasgow this year, and I'm fairly sure Walter will have you do some coverage of it, so… um, anyways, I was just calling to say hi, I know we haven't talked in a while, and I was wondering if you were going to be in London at all during the championship, if, maybe, you wanted to go to dinner, you know, just for old times' sake. Um, if you can, you have my number. If not, I'm sure I'll see you in Glasgow. Bye."

I felt as though I would melt. She had forgiven me to ask me to dinner.  
Only as friends, but that was better than never seeing her again.

Florence.

Oh, Florence.  
How could I let you go?  
_Walter. I have to call Walter. Talk him into letting me stay in London in the weeks leading up to the championship, then go to Glasgow during._  
I dialed his all too familiar number at Global.

"Walter De Courcy's office, Global Television, this is Karol  
speaking."  
"Karol, it's Freddie"  
I could practically hear her applying a fresh coat of lipstick and batting  
her eyelashes.  
"What can I do for you, Freddie? Anything in particular?"  
"Just put me on the phone with Walter."  
"Oh. Ok. Fine."  
Her disappointment was almost tangible.  
"Freddie, m'boy! Good to see you got my message. Is the pay good with you?"  
"Yeah, actually I was thinking of the lodgings-"  
"Don't worry; we're having you stay in a suite in one of Glasgow's finest hotels."  
"I was actually thinking of heading to London a week or two earlier, just to see the city and see what Londoners think of the championship."  
"Nothing to do with Florence, I assume."  
"No. Nothing to do with her."  
"We'll see what we can do."  
"Thanks."  
"Ok, bye, Freddie."  
"Bye."

I placed the phone back on its cradle. I picked up the folded piece of paper that sat on the counter next to the phone. I didn't really need it. I knew it by heart from the countless times I had made those almost phone calls to her. I had lost her my nerve all times previous. I decided I wouldn't now. Not this time. Five rings. Six, seven, eight. Fleetingly, I hoped she wasn't home. It was in vain.

"Hello?"

"Florence, hi, it's me… Freddie."  
"Oh… Freddie, hi. How are you?"  
"I'm doing ok. How about you?"  
"Same. New York treating you well?"  
"Relatively. What about London?"  
"Once again, the same. Are you coming?"  
"I think. I told Walter that I wanted to come a week or two early and see what Londoners think about the championship, then go to Glasgow to do the coverage."  
"Great. I know a great little restaurant not far from where I live. Call me to pick you up when you get here."  
"I will. Um… have you heard anything from Anatoly recently?"  
I could tell she had tensed. "Some. He's well."  
"That's good. He'll be in Glasgow?"  
"Yeah. Uh, actually, Freddie, I, uh, I have to go…"  
"Wait! I didn't mean to hit a nerve. I'm sorry."  
"Did… did you just apologize? Sincerely?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, I did. I told you in Bangkok. I've changed."  
"I guess you have. I… Honestly, I can't wait to see you again. I've missed you."  
I was shocked. As of last summer, she loathed me. Now she missed me. "I miss you, too, Florence. I-it's good to hear your voice again."  
"You, too. Now, I really do have to go. I need some sleep."  
"That's right; it's about 11 o'clock there."  
"Yeah. Well, I'll see you soon, Freddie. Bye."  
"Good night, Florence."  
I hung up. I was going to see Florence again. My love, my Florence. My heart  
was racing. How did she know? How did that girl in the park know? How did she know I needed to check my machine…?

_It's only a coincidence. Maybe I struck her as the forgetful type_, I convinced myself.


End file.
